


Pieces of Ourselves

by Gebo



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Trainspotting (1996)
Genre: Crossover, Drug Use, Other, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gebo/pseuds/Gebo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle French is no stranger to a hard life. But when a car crash takes away everything she holds dear, she hits rock bottom. As a heroin user in Scotland, she staggers through life, hit to hit. But she can't be as messed up as one Francis Begbie, can she?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces of Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> Contains drug-use, violence, swearing. Typical Trainspotting content. Proceed with caution if that sort of thing bothers you. This story will have a lot of that.

_Next time, I’ll go clean. Just one more hit, and I’ll get clean._  
  
That was the mantra they all used to keep themselves going. The wasters on the street, the junkies who could barely make it to their own front doors, if they even had a front door. Those that had family, and those who did not. Those with a roof over their head and friends at their back. Those who spent nights in covered doorways trying desperately to fight off the cold, who no one would miss if they just fell off the face of the planet.  _Just one more_ , they all told themselves.  _Just one, and that’s it. That’s the end._ They all said it at one point of another. They all promised as they continued to pump heroin into their arms. As their lives wasted away.  
  
Belle French’s life wasn’t being wasted. Her life had been torn away from her years ago. All that she had, all that she had been, had been ripped from her one winter’s day, four years ago. She had nothing to lose. She had nothing to waste.  
  
Belle didn’t subscribe to the mantra of  _just one more hit_. She had no reason to go clean. She had no desire to go clean. The heroin kept the demons at bay. It kept her mind beautifully clear and her body standing tall. It took away the aches and pains that were left by the car accident all those years ago. And most importantly, it drove the ominous dark cloud of depression out of the blue skies of her mind. Or at least drove it to the back of her mind, and that was better than nothing, after all.  
  
So she kept her head high and her nose clean. She kept making late night trips to dark alleyways, or sketch flats, to buy her next supply. She kept waving around chunks of her inheritance to ensure she got the cleanest drug on the market and if she didn’t get the cheapest prices, than so be it. There was far more money where that came from, and there were more important things than being froogle with her fortune. Like getting her next hit.  
  
She spent her days reading, or writing, going for walks through the city. By night, she was a social butterfly, drinking with mates in the local pubs, dancing and laughing like the next. But it was always back to the needle, back to the tourniquet and the candle and the spoon, back to the drug. All so that she could smile a little bit, so that she could lift her head and face the world with a lighter heart and without the knot in her stomach overwhelming her.  
  
All so that she could forget the face of Rumpelstiltskin, the face of her dead lover, and the emptiness that he had left inside of her, for just a while. For just one more day.  _One more day._  
  
It was some time just before midnight, a bitterly cold February night. Belle checked her watch. 11:51. Just on time. A breeze swept down the alley. She shivered and pulled her down coat a little more tightly around herself. For all the good it would do her. It wasn’t the chill that made her shake. Still, she tried to convince herself, it wouldn’t hurt to stay warm and healthy. Well, relatively healthy. She shook her head, trying to clear the muddled mess that her thoughts had become. She needed to finish her task. She needed to hand over her money, take the little plastic baggy that was handed to her, go home and cook up her dose. Her body needed it. Her mind needed it.  
  
She could feel her body starting to wake up, starting to realize that the drug that kept her going was in short supply. Her blood was turning to sludge in her veins. Her heart was beginning to beat faster, leaving her with the uncomfortable feeling of imminent panic. She took a slow, shaky breath, trying to calm her nerves as she stepped up to a man in a brown leather jacket and black slacks. He looked around at her and Belle held his gaze, feeling wary and paranoid.  
  
He wasn’t one of her usual sources. She normally preferred to stick to the dealers she knew, the ones she, for lack of a better word, trusted. None of them had been dealing tonight however, and she couldn’t wait until morning. Her joints felt like they were seizing up, gritty and stiff and aching. She needed to get a hit soon or she was going to be in agony.  
  
“Awright sweetheart?” the man greeted her, dark eyes scanning her slight frame. It was in his job description to be wary of strangers and she didn’t take it personally when he eyed the pockets of her thick winter coat where she had stuffed her shaking hands. “Wit can ah be daein for ye?”  
  
Pulling one hand out of her pocket, Belle showed him the neat roll of bills she held securely in her palm. “We spoke on the phone?” she reminded him and glanced over her shoulder with a sudden feeling of unease. “This morning?”  
  
“Oh aye! Ms Gold, is’t?” Belle nodded once and rolled her shoulders to loosen the tension that was gathering there. “Here ye are, luve!” They extended their hands at the same time and within a moment, she had relinquished her hold on the money and had a small plastic baggie of beige-white powder clenched tightly in her other hand. Clasping her other hand over it, she clung to it like a lifeline, a movement that wasn’t missed by the man in leather. He smiled at her with tobacco-stained teeth, but there was nothing kind or reassuring about that smile. It was a practiced smile of one who aimed to please his clients out of necessity, but had no real desire to do so. “Haud tight tae that, luve. Ah’ll no be re-imbursing lost or stealt gear.” With that really rather useless advice, he waved Belle off.  
  
As she stuffed her prize and her hands back into her pockets, intent on heading back down the block for home, Belle thought on what sort of reputation she had acquired in Edinburgh over the last few years. Most of the dealers knew her name, even the lowest, dodgiest scum in the skag houses. Most of them had tried to earn her business at one point or another, but she had found her preferred sources and it was safest to stick to those you knew. Tonight, however…. Well, a drug addict had to do what she had to do.  
  
She had started limping. There was pain shooting up her right thigh with every step, a leftover from the fractured femur she had sustained in the wreck, and she cursed herself for not thinking to bring her walking cane. She hated that ache. It was always the first real pain to come back as the drugs wore off, aside from the all-around soreness caused by early withdrawal. It was always the first thing to remind her of that day, remind her of what she had lost. She hated it for that reason more than the pain itself.  
  
Belle passed as quickly as she could manage through the shadows of the alleyways. She was not concerned for her safety so much as her sanity. She had never been brave enough to push the limits of how long she could go between hits. When the aches started, when her leg creaked under her weight, when her vision start to blur with imminent tears, and she felt like she might not be able to take a full breath at any time, that was when she needed her next hit. She needed to get home.  
  
There was a sudden shouting from further down the alley. Belle’s head snapped up curiosity and adrenaline making her temporarily forget her aches and pains. With a glance at the dealer behind her, who seemed not to have noticed the raucous, or was successfully ignoring it, she strode down the alley and around the corner where the noise was coming from.  
  
Curiosity had always been a weakness of hers, her father would say. Belle had never seen it that way. How could you uncover the mysteries of the world if you simply weren’t curious enough to uncover them? And at that moment, the mystery was the shouts and crashes coming from… down here. She took another corner and sped up, the pain in her leg pushed to the back of her mind.  
  
“Richt, ye buftie fuckin’ eediot! Ah oughta hiv yer fuckin’ heid split, you pish-seepin cunt!” There was a thump and a yelp of pain. Where most people might have turned and high-tailed it out as quickly as possible, the sounds only made Belle break into a run, her poisoned joints creaking from the strain. She barely noticed for the adrenaline pumping its way through her veins. She pulled her hands from her pockets again, balled them into fists, ready to defend an innocent soul from whatever monster was torturing him.  _Do the brave thing_ , she whispered to herself.  
  
Her blood was rushing in her ears by the time she turned the corner and she skidded to a halt a few feet from the source of the noise. As she huffed to catch her breath, her heart pounding angrily in her chest, she took in the scene. There was a man on the ground with sandy brown hair, clutching his ribs and moaning in pain. The man standing over him was slight and angular, with dark hair, wearing a pullover jumper. He was screaming down at the man on the ground, spit flying from his mouth and though Belle couldn’t see his face for the shadows, she could see the back of his neck and the tips of his ears were red with fury. He carried the air of a small man who had puffed up to be the powerful and terrifying beast. It was a look Belle knew all too well.  
  
The man braced himself for another kick to his victim’s face, his foot pulled back and his whole body tense. Belle could even see the veins popping out of his neck. Before she could so much as second guess herself, she lunged forward and grabbed the man by the arm, yanking him backwards. A moment later, she found herself crashing backwards onto the pavement as the dark-haired man flung his arm out of her grasp. “Gi’ aff, ye daft cunt!” He slammed his foot forward into the face of the other man. There was a sickening crack that made Belle’s stomach roil, but she was already on her feet again.  
  
“STOP!” She leapt onto the back of the attacker, one arm going around his neck, and she heaved him backwards. He gasped and choked as he tried to draw breath enough to shout. The pair of them stumbled backwards together, the man’s arms flailing wildly as he reached for something to hold onto. Belle’s legs went out from under her and only her grip around his neck kept her upright.  
  
“Git! Ta fuck! A-wa!” the man choked out. He brought his elbow back in a sharp jab, catching Belle hard in the ribs. She felt the breath go out of her and she gasped, loosening her grip. Given the advantage, the man reached back and grabbed Belle’s hair, pulling her off of him and turning to face her. Belle could not help but flinch, sensing more than seeing the man raise his fist to hit her. But as he leaned towards her to swing, he leaned into the light of one of the streetlamps and she was able to make out his face for the first time. Belle felt all of the color drain from her face and her eyes go wide.  _Rumpelstiltskin_. She had just enough time to register the man’s fist swinging towards her face before everything went black.


End file.
